To You, I am Grateful
by TheSleepyNinja15
Summary: For all of her sacrifices and selflessness, here is a little tribute for C.C. A post-Resurrection fic.


For quite some time now, Lelouch is very curious.

But her stubbornness wouldn't let him know.

He has some stray vague memories here and there like afterthoughts overshadowed by distractions but nothing that is coherent enough nor will give him a proper context to stitch into a conclusive story. It bugs him, keeps him up at night, knowing that there is a blank timeline in his life that he hadn't contemplated and appreciated appropriately as one would who is in debt to another person.

But she wouldn't tell him.

Always, she brushes his questions off like a dust on her shoulder about that certain blank year when he was nothing but a shell of a body completely dependent on her.

_Past is past_, she would answer. Or, _It doesn't matter if you remember or not, it won't change a thing. Did I ever ask what you did when I sealed my code? _He doesn't like that particular respond for those were two different situations.

Sometimes, she would also say with her indifferent voice, _Dwelling on unimportant things is not a way of moving forward._

One time, he made the mistake of asking her while she was busily munching on her first pizza after a few months of its unavailability due to several reasons, and he was thrown at a deadly glare that could have easily send him back to C's World if she has the ability.

_Shut your mouth, Lelouch, and let me enjoy this pizza or I'll drag Charles and Marianne back here since you've been itching to talk with someone, _she had said.

He did shut his mouth after that by eating his own slice of pizza and never brought the matter up again.

He wonders why she wouldn't tell him, why she is so sensitive and secretive about it. Well, this is C.C. he is talking about. A self-centered, stubborn, immortal witch whose values been tainted by the melancholy of immortality. One who would rather keep her desires and hopes to herself and having them pile up in her heart until they suffocate her, until they turn into burdens of loneliness weighing her chest down. And to whom would she direct all these feelings? To no one but herself. Such thing made her feel alone despite being in the company of others. More likely, if she is in the company of others. He had learned this, had learned her thoroughly throughout their whole time together.

And one lesson that had deeply engraved itself in his mind was, no matter how many times she referred to herself as a self-centered woman, nothing that she does is for herself. In the end, she would be the one who had given the most and received the least.

That's why she preferred to leave silently right after the battle in Zilkhstan. That's why she didn't bother to say her goodbyes to him even though she's the one who brought him back. She was giving him back to his loved ones.

An unfathomable woman, indeed.

So, it bothers him immensely - that blank year when he knew that all she did was give and give and give leaving next to nothing for herself in order for his empty self to survive. It bothers him to a great state that she had these sacrifices alone which he couldn't even remember, and worse, reciprocate equally to her.

_You'll just be wasting your time, Lelouch, _she had responded one night. _No one sacrifices for the sake of witches, it is the witch who sacrificed an innocent lamb for her eternal youth._

It was when his untamable thoughts invaded his dreams that he decided to take some measures. If she wouldn't tell him, there are still some other people who could.

"My Lord?" The shock and excitement in his voice made Lelouch smile.

"It is I, Jeremiah," he answers while keeping eye if his companion would suddenly arrive in the room.

"My Lord, my Lord, what service can I do for you?"

"Are you with Anya?"

"Yes, she is here with me."

"Good, for I have some important questions to ask."

* * *

"What's the occasion, Lelouch?"

Lelouch puts the last of the bowls down on the table and immediately runs to the doorway where C.C. is unloading their groceries. Without any word, he retrieves the bags from her hands, leaving the girl startled and confused.

"Just sit and relax in the dining room. Wait for me. I'll just put these away."

"O-Okay," she answers hesitantly.

As soon as he returns to the table, he quickly serves her the foods and drinks he personally made. All the while, his companion watches his strange actions, skeptically listens to his joyful humming, as she waits for the punchline of the evening to drop.

"Are you sick, Lelouch?" C.C. worriedly asks, when finally, after plating several meals infront of her, Lelouch sits beside her.

"Hmm? No, I'm feeling fine. Actually, incredibly and wonderfully fine."

"Huh, then why – "

"Let's eat, C.C."

"…"

"…"

"Lelouch?"

"Yes?"

"How can I eat properly if you're holding my hand?"

"Oh, oh, right. Sorry about that."

Putting his spoon down but not C.C.'s hand, he uses her spoon to scoop some soup and meat, blows gently on it and holds it before her lips. This time, the look that she throws at him is both suspicious and cautious.

"Where's my stuffed toy?" she asks.

"It's in the bedroom."

"My Cheese-kun collectibles?"

"Safe on the window sill."

Her eyes narrow, scrutinizing his open face. "You're acting strange. Did you do something wrong? Perhaps, you accidentally brought Charles back to life."

He laughs good-naturedly, amused by her imagination. "I did no such thing, and even if I wanted to, I don't have the ability to do so. This is all out of goodwill and appreciation. Come on, the food will turn cold."

His arm is starting to get tired but finally, she sighs, "Fine."

And so Lelouch continues to take care of her just like what Jeremiah and Anya told him in the phone. Admittedly, his present course of actions cannot equal to the care and sacrifices she had done during that certain year. The vulnerability of her emotions, opening her feelings to the world in order for them to survive, or as Jeremiah had put it, "A completely different C.C. whose face was transparent like lake waters".

Lelouch could only imagine how hard it was for her to allow herself be human again, to carry emotions on her sleeves, to have her heart hang like a pendant after several centuries of closing it from the world. So he is more than willing to return every affection and selflessness she had shown him that period, and continue to express his gratitude in the long future that they would be together. After all, he had donned the name L.L. not only because 'Lelouch' is a name he cannot use publicly again, but primarily to convey to C.C. that she doesn't have to be alone in living separately and differently in this world anymore. L.L. is the continuation of his promise, the embodiment of his commitment, the name that equaled hers.

He gently wipes the soup and sauce that escaped from C.C.'s lips, serves her drinks, and brings her the food that she likes. When the witch shyly murmured that she can eat on her own, he releases her hand but does not leave her side. Elbow on the table, Lelouch rests his chin on his palm and silently watches her eat.

"Do I have anything on my face?" asks C.C., who is now avoiding his eyes.

"No, you look perfect."

All of a sudden, cheeks red, she rises causing the plates to clink and clank on her wake. Face hidden behind her thick tresses, she mutters a soft, "I'm done, thank you for the food."

Looking up at her with a serene smile plastered on his lips, Lelouch says, "No, _thank you_."

He catches the moment when realization dawns on her – when everything fell into place – just like how she slowly turns her face towards him as her eyes widen in disbelief, so reminiscent of her expression when he made the suggestion of changing his name. She is a puzzle that is mysterious when undone, but breathtaking when completed,

Standing, he gathers the empty plates and bowls. "I'll do the dishes, too. So you are free to rest for the night," he states without looking at her.

"Lelouch? How - ?" her voice shaky and tentative behind him.

"You know what, C.C.?" Looking over his shoulder, his amethyst eyes meet her glassy golden ones. A warm sensation begins to bloom in his chest – the pieces of his heart falling into the right places, a puzzle of his own – as he utters his next words. "I wouldn't mind wasting my time for moments like this. I don't mind having a lot of memories like this."

_For everything, thank you, witch._

_Thank you very much, dear…_

* * *

**"..." stands for C.C.'s real name.**

**This is a little tribute for her.**


End file.
